The Exfiltrator by Garner Simmons (read after txt) 📗

we have of finding Tariq?  He is the one we must capture and behead, recording the moment of his death as a warning.  Proof to all enemies of the true faith that this prodigal son of the apostate al-Bakr has been silenced for now and forever.”

“And if he escapes?  What then?”

“Failure is not part of God’s plan.  We must trust in Allah and know that His hand guides us in all things.”

With a grunt of grudging acceptance, Buttar rose and turned. Shuffling back across the room he spread out his prayer rug so that the niche pointed toward Mecca and began to pray, reciting from memory the verse from the holy Qur’an that begins:

“We will cast terror into the hearts of those who disbelieve for what they have associated with Allah of which He had not sent down authority.  And their refuge will be the Fire, and wretched is the residence of the wrongdoers.”

Fire, indeed.  He whispered the phrase once more.  For Buttar knew in his heart that the world would end in fire.  It was only a matter of time.  Allahu Akbar…!   Then completing his prayer, he rolled up his rug once more and fell asleep.

*****

Repairing the winch took until just after noon.  At the same time, the four men from the village recruited by Gorka the day before arrived and were put to work by Corbett assembling the superstructure needed to support the lift.  Anchored in the bedrock at the mouth of the cave and standing seven feet tall, the superstructure extended six feet beyond the edge to allow the lift basket to be lowered and raised without obstruction.  Essentially, a simple six-foot square aluminum cage covered with wire mesh, the basket had a lightweight sliding door and was attached to the winch’s thirty-meter, inch-and-a-half galvanized steel cable that ran through the pulley system at the apex of the structure.  The cable could hold up to 30,000 pounds and had a descent rate of seven meters per minute.  A pair of walkie-talkies were installed to provide communication between the surface and lift.  By early afternoon, the entire assembly was in place and ready to be tested.

Donning a helmet, Corbett slid the door to the lift open.  Then stepping into the cage, he pressed the remote.  With a shudder, the winch hummed to life.  As the basket swayed and began its descent into the cavernous void below, he attempted to ignore the mild sense of displacement that swept over him by turning on his LED light and focusing on the sedimentary limestone strata that defined the cave’s interior walls as it passed before him. Three minutes later, he reached the rock floor of the main chamber.

Pressing the button marked “talk,” Corbett spoke into the walkie-talkie.  “That’s it.  I’m down.  We’re looking good.  Better start organizing the men.  As soon as everything’s been double-checked, I want to start bringing the equipment down.”

“You got it, Boss,” Hector’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Let me know when and we bring you back up pronto.”

Corbett turned on his handheld LED and slowly played the light across the rock face of the cave as he felt a wave of excitement rise up within him. “Copy that,” he said at last. “Ready whenever you are.”

Placing a hand against the wire mesh, Corbett braced himself as the winch kicked in and he began his ascent.  Clearly having the lift in place made the entire enterprise possible.  He could not imagine transporting the equipment they would need for the Laser Mapping, not to mention Ella’s photographic gear, without it.  The wages of modern technology.  But what of the original cave dwellers?  How, he wondered, had they made their way down into the bowels of the earth?  What had driven them underground?  And what of the artist who had so painstakingly sought to capture the world beyond on the walls of the cave below?  How had he or she or they managed to reach the depths and return?  Clearly there had to have been another way.  A path perhaps, either naturally formed or carved into the rock itself?  With any luck, the 3-D Laser Mapping might somehow provide them with a meaningful clue.  Making a mental note to discuss the matter with Sebastian, he glanced upwards through the opening at the top of the cage as the light from the mouth of the cave drew closer.  There was much to be done.

As the lift finally reached the surface, Hector secured it, opening the door and giving Corbett a hand as he climbed out.  Outside in the sunshine, the day laborers waited like roadies getting ready for the load-in.  Corbett grinned at the thought.  Laissez le bon temps rouler, indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

EIGHTEEN

 

H aving spent the remainder of the afternoon testing the lift, they began to transport the equipment and supplies necessary for the initial exploration of the cave from the surface to the floor of the main chamber.  By the end of the day, all was finally in place for work to begin in earnest the following morning.

By the time Corbett returned to the base camp, the sun was slowly declining toward the western horizon.  As the day laborers boarded their truck and headed down the mountain to the village, he walked toward his tent.  A well-traveled minivan stood parked at the edge of the clearing.  A red cross had been stenciled in paint to the driver’s side door.  Above it were the words: “Clinica Medica.”  Entering the musky coolness of the tent, Corbett stopped, sensing he was not alone.  On the far side, Tariq stood half obscured in shadow.  His beard neatly trimmed, he was wearing a loose fitting white thawb and a skullcap.

“Michael,” he said quietly, breaching the awkward silence that lay between them.

“Tariq…,” Corbett replied.  “Good to see you.  It’s been awhile.”

“Amaia said you